Changes in Latitude
by KUCrow1997
Summary: Yet another re-boot of "Casino Night". But what if Stamford, CT wasn't far enough away for poor Jim? Characters: NBC / Title: Jimmy Buffett / Plot: Silliness and vicarious wish fufillment
1. Monte Carlo's warehouse

Disclaimers: I do not own these characters whatsoever, please don't sue! This is also my first fic, please be kind!

Changes in Latitude : Chapter 1

"This is really turning out to be an awful day", thought Jim.

Firstly, he was spending a Friday evening at his place of employ. This in and of itself was worth a grimace upon further review, even if it _was _much more interesting than usual by virtue of Michael's Casino Night fundraiser (the combination of gambling and catering by Hooter's. All for the benefit of the Boy Scouts did, strangely enough, seem almost appropriate given the personality of Michael Scott)

Secondly, being at work might not be so bad, but for the fact that all his co-workers were also in attendance. Well, this point can also be parsed, if one took into account that deep seated emotional problems in others can often be mined for entertainment value. Fortunately, Jim Halpert is an expert at detecting and exploiting the rich seams of awkwardness and immaturity existing in such people as Dwight Schrute. Maybe this unpleasant factor could have been made to work to his advantage, had it not been for the real kicker of the night.

No, the third, and by far the worst reason that this warm spring evening was beginning to resemble an Earthly hell was because _she_ was there. Jim shook his shaggy head briefly in a rebuke of this thought. In no way could he ever think of Pam Beesly as any sort of handmaiden to the devil. Rather, it was her angelic qualities that really tortured his soul. Dear God! That glint in her hazel eyes as she destroyed him in poker threatened to lay waste to his entire being. _"Emo much there Jimmy boy?"_ he thought.

Of course, he was perfectly aware that her engagement and rapidly approaching wedding to Roy rendered her as unattainable as any angel residing beyond the Pearly Gates. Unfortunately, this fact did not alter his feelings in the slightest. This evening was going to be just a bit difficult.

"Jim Halpert, everyone. A round of applause." intoned Kevin, as Jim stood to leave the site of his demolishment at the hands of a triumphant Pam.

"Nicely done, Beesly." said Jim

"Hey, come back anytime, your money is always good with me!" gloated Pam.

She was always so adorable, even as she was slowly killing him.

Jim tossed off a lopsided grin (a trademark), and went off to find the bar. After ordering a gin and tonic (Banker's Club gin and generic tonic water… classy), He leaned against the temporary counter and took in the action of the room.

Dwight was working the craps table to his profit, and Jim couldn't help but chuckle when he stole a kiss from the normally staid Angela. The resulting slap delivered from the tiny righteous palm of the miniature accountant was even better.

Next, the blackjack table featured Phyllis and Bob Vance (of Vance Refrigeration, naturally) appearing to flirt intensely over their cards. Jim's spirits lifted a little at the sight of matronly Phyllis so visibly enjoying herself.

He then caught sight of Creed, standing behind an oblivious Kelly (Jim briefly wondered if "oblivious" and "Kelly" existing in the same sentence may actually be redundant, and one can be substituted for another for the sake of brevity), and Creed's quick hands scooping up a few chips from Kelly's pile at the roulette table. Normally, Kelly might be expected to miss them before long, if not for the fact that Ryan seemed to actually be almost listening to her usual prattle. Almost. Upon further inspection, Jim noticed an earbud and trailing wire snaking into Ryan's pocket. No doubt a hidden MP3 player lurking within had his attention.

"_Ryan's got new music."_ thought Jim, reminding himself to ask the temp later what he might have downloaded.

Further down the bar Jim noticed the awkwardness that is Michael Scott, reveling in the fact he had two dates present, if only in his sad and twisted mind. Carol stood by uncomfortably as Michael made his inevitably awful jokes to a visibly mortified Jan. As Jan glanced away from Michael's comedic train wreck, Jim couldn't help but catch her eye and offer an eyebrow raise and head shake in commiseration.

Jan, spotting an escape, muttered some vague excuse to Michael and wandered up the bar to Jim.

"So, have you thought about the Stamford transfer?"

"Yeah, it really seems like a good move," replies Jim "but who could leave all this?" with a sweep of his arm to encompass the warehouse cum gambling hall.

A tight grin "You know, Josh could really use your expertise up there."

Jim, his lopsided grin almost etched in his face by now, nodded. He then made the mistake of glancing over to the poker area. Whatever mellowness he held had suddenly vanished and his stomach suddenly felt leaden. Pam was chatting excitedly with Roy, her features a combination of joy and adoration, the perfect picture of smitten bride to be and indulgent future husband. Jim's despair was mitigated somewhat by the radiant joy on Pam's features.

"_Maybe, just maybe I can survive seeing Pam marry jackass Roy. "_ he thought.

After all, Pam clearly was happy with the situation. Roy, for his part, wasn't a bad dude. He never hit her, and could be pleasant enough in an uninteresting sort of way. He would often neglect Pam (his promise of "The greatest sex you've ever had!" as his sole Valentine's Day gift sprung unbidden and unwelcome to mind). But Roy's inattention did seem pretty benign, usually requiring a correctional rebuke to be countered with an oafish apology to resolve whatever situation the couple encountered.

The kiss that Pam planted on Roy next, however, was a bit more than Jim could hope to survive and expect to stay sane.

"You know what Jan, I'll do it. Stamford will be a great change for me" Jim hoped as he said this that there was some blood left in his facial capillaries, at least to prevent Jan from thinking she was offering promotion to someone who was about to spray vomit about the room or just die on the spot.

"That's great to hear." said Jan evenly. "We can get the transfer finalized on Monday; you can start the week after next and get two weeks in before you leave for Australia."

"Sounds like a plan" Jim tried to make that sound remotely enthusiastic.

"Excellent" Jan's smooth features turned thoughtful for a moment, "You really should take this opportunity to say goodbye, this transfer will be going forward at lightning speed and time will be limited."

"Yeah, loose ends and all that." not too wistfully.

"Yes, next week will be quite hec- "Jan's head snaps around to the bar "What the!"

Jim's eyes flared a bit at the sudden flash of bluish flame running down the surface of the bar in their direction, pushing away from the cushioned edge to avoid being burned.

"Whoopsie!" exclaims Michael, "Little shot mishap over here." Quietly, to the annoyed bartender "Do I still have to pay for that one?"

"I will definitely miss the excitement that is Michael Scott." laughs Jim. "I mean, you can't buy that kind of constant entertainment!"

"Right." mutters a clearly annoyed Jan, as Jim pulls her out of the path of an extinguisher wielding Dwight.

"Everyone remain calm!" roars the bespectacled salesman, naturally not realizing that shouting for people to _not_ be agitated usually has very much the opposite effect.

Jim, standing back from the action, briefly watches Dwight douse the bar in fire retardant. Michael, characteristically, was ridiculing Dwight for _his_ characteristic overreaction, "Idiot!" repeatedly escaping into the local atmosphere.

Jan, for her part, was torn between castigating Michael for somehow dumping his ignited 151 and requesting forcefully that Dwight cease spewing foam onto the bar and everyone near it.

Carol seemed to be exhibiting multiple conflicting emotions. On one hand, shock seemed appropriate, as her date almost flamed the refreshment area (the fact that this also happened to be in a room filled with very flammable paper products was put aside for the moment). But on the other hand, she seemed relieved for the distraction. Michael was completely occupied in supervising some sort of rescue (not really necessary), as well as trying to avoid any sort of blame, and clearly too busy to continue talking to her at all.

Looking away in embarrassment, _"That's my boss."_ Thought Jim, _"well, my ex-boss."_

Jim decided that the mortification levels in the room were approaching terminal limits, and sought out some fresh air, not tainted with retardant fumes and shrill accusations. Perhaps the parking lot might provide the calm he desired. He ducked out the door and into the warm evening.


	2. Ruminations

Changes in Latitude Ch. 2

The warm spring air helped rejuvenate Jim a little, as he fled the stuffy warehouse. Too many people and too much noise had always made him uneasy, and the peaceful parking lot area seemed to restore his inner tranquility. Maybe his aversion to bustle was the reason he stayed in Scranton, he thought. The City that Never Wakes Up.

Jim decided to take a stroll along the perimeter of the property to think about a few things. Images of Dwight, bo staff and serious look both firmly in place as he performed "Necessary Security Patrols at 0600" brought a quick grin to Jim's face as he contemplated his route. As if anyone were trying to invade Dunder Mifflin ever, let alone at 6am.

"Why am I still here in Scranton?" he wondered as he stepped off into the shadows of some hedges. Scranton was pretty much home for his entire life, not counting four years at State College.

Thinking of Penn State: "Hmm, should probably get rid of those PSU football season tickets if I'm going to be out in Connecticut." His dad wouldn't be able to go, what with his Saturday afternoon golf league. Ben and Tom were out too, as both his brothers lived in other states. Mark couldn't take them, and had to sell his seat to Jim due to an ongoing work conflict. Sell them to Kevin? Or, wedding present to Pam and Roy? Roy would probably consider it the best wedding gift he could ever receive, and most like bring Kenny along. So the gift would essentially be: Nittany Lion football for Roy, peaceful (or lonely) Saturday afternoons for Pam, and Jim in Connecticut watching the game on TV.

"Think about that later." he thought. Vivid images of what Pam might do to fill those autumn afternoons fluttered to the forefront of his musings: Pam preparing an elaborate dinner for her boorish fiancé (husband!), plates filled with foods he would never appreciate. Pam laundering grimy socks and sweat-stiffened work shirts with a small "Roy" patch sewn onto them, waves of BO rolling off of them enough to sicken. Pam collecting numerous beer bottles for recycling that her thoughtless fiancé (husband!) forgot to tidy up, the detritus of a Friday night pre-game session; wouldn't have to drink as much at the bar if you arrive drunk!

Try as he might, he could not envision Pam ever doing something for herself. Her life seemed to be a series of unpleasant tasks centered around Roy, to be completed quietly and without the expectation of the tiniest bit of gratitude or acknowledgement. Head of Household and doting fiancée, or master-slave?

"It's what she wants, you dummy!" he told himself.

He shook his head vigorously to clear this line of thought.

Back to the topic at hand: Scranton. He agreed to himself that Scranton was a trap, a place for dreams to die and for bright, talented people to become merely ordinary.

"Ok then, what about Stamford? What makes it so freakin' great?"

He examined his mental database for everything he knew about Stamford Connecticut.

Situated in the little "tail" of the state, near New York City (points of interest near, including Art Museums, Graphic Design schools, theatre; why was this important?)

Home to a few well known liquor importing companies, according to numerous commercials he's seen over the years (assurances of a steady supply of good booze, perfect if someone wanted to forget something or someone…)

Headquarters of World Wrestling Entertainment (whose unlikely plotlines provide discerning and sarcastic people everywhere with hours of mockability, which may not even be a word. He'd have to ask… well, never mind.)

Near beach (he'd seen a number of ads for charter cruises on Long Island Sound, featuring open bar and music. He didn't think he'd partake in that activity ever again.)

And finally, Stamford didn't have Pam Beesly.

Jim began to notice a tiresome pattern emerging. Every thought he had always came back to the same wonderful and painful place. How can you run from something inside your own head? Would Stamford help keep him sane? Is Stamford far enough away to take him out of the heart-wrenching equation of Pam + Roy = no chance for Jim?

His path around the property began to wind back to his starting point, provoking a grim smile at the comparison to his thought processes. Trapped in a loop, unable to escape. Circling endlessly, expending energy and getting nowhere. Depressing.

He thought of patterns of behavior (Penn State Freshman year: Intro to Psych), and thought of ways to break out. What was the craziest thing he could do to shift the dynamic? No idea too insane. Anything to break the cycle of everyday a rebirth as lonely salesman for DM Scranton, and everyday a death as his Nirvana went home with another man! (Junior Year: World Religions)

**1. Kill Roy, marry Pam.** Direct, simple, effective for removing Roy from the scene. But fraught with problems; Pam wouldn't like seeing her fiancé slaughtered, Jim wasn't really the killing type, and even if Pam did agree to marry him, he had no intention of spending his marriage behind bars.

**2. Kidnap Pam, elope.** Also direct. More complicated, would he throw Pam into a gunny sack and run away? Further problem of it being against her will; it would be tough to enjoy married life if one were constantly afraid their wife would be trying to kick her loving husband in the groin and find a phone to call the police. Given her co-operation, he was confident of his abilities to elude Roy, but less so in eluding the FBI.

**3. Convince Pam to leave Roy.** A non-illegal solution. Would require overcoming Pam's enormous fear of change. He's been trying this on a lower level for three years, never quite stating it obviously. To date, the subtle method had been markedly ineffective. How would a dramatic confession of his love go over? Could he wager his entire being on a throw of the dice like that? Long ago, his grandfather cautioned him to never ask a question unless you already knew the answer. This would be in flagrant violation of that advice.

**4. Find a way to live without Pam.** Well, there it is. This option could be divided into two basic parts:

**a. Stamford.** Plans were already underway for this eventuality; all he had to do was basically nothing. Jim was good at doing nothing. But what if 300 odd miles wasn't enough? He was going to Australia to avoid the wedding after all.

**b. Run.** Somewhere else. Not in Pennsylvania, not in the northeast, not with Dunder Mifflin. Maybe not in the United States, or North America. Not planet earth wasn't an option as of yet, or he might have considered it.

**5. Kill self.** Um, no. He wasn't about to do that. He loved his parents dearly, and believed they would be able to get over seeing him go to jail or on the lam with Pam (nice rhyme!), but he couldn't hurt them by offing himself. Pam would also be 100 percent against it as well. Plus, the whole "Go directly to Hell" thing didn't appeal to him either; if he wanted that, he could stay right where he was.

In all practicality, options one and two were insane (similar to advice Dwight may give, if asked), three was plausible (unlikely, but plausible). Four part A was safe, if uninteresting. Five was pretty much the incredibly dramatic act of a lovesick teenager.

Option four part B intrigued him, however. Where might he go, "in all practicality"? Why not go somewhere very different from Scranton and its cold winters?

"Where was that place?" Jim wondered, thinking back to an e-mail he'd received a few weeks ago from an old friend.

"Liz had taken a job with… what was it called? Grand-something, on Barbados!" An old friend of his from Penn State had majored in Hotel-Restaurant Management, and had finally landed her dream job as "Hospitality Director" an a swanky resort on the island of Barbados, near Bridgetown. In her chatty e-mail, Liz mentioned the possibility of a job with the resort "…if they wanted to get away from it all and mix drinks like the old days."

It so happened that Jim was very interested in "getting away" currently, and also had a soft spot for a certain cheesy '80s movie starring Tom Cruise. Not the one with the fighter jets, he thought, or the one where he runs a bordello out of his parents' house or where he's a high school quarterback. You know, bartending and stuff. And for the record, Tom Cruise cranked out quite a bit of cheese in the '80s!

Still, Barbados was a pretty big leap into the unknown, and he had Australia already picked out as his big "foreign adventure" to make him forget about sweet Pam.

"Well, maybe not. Running away to Barbados is a bit extreme for me, and probably can't get too many Eagles or Sixers games on the tube down there." Stamford and Dunder Mifflin would have to be enough. Or so he hoped.

Jim rounded the corner of the property nearest the entrance to the building, still maundering on what direction his life should take, when he notices a gorgeous girl in a blue dress standing next to a battered pick-up truck in the parking area. The gorgeous girl in a dress the color blue that Jim just knew he could never see again and not think of her. Of Roy, who was sitting at the wheel and sharing a kiss with the Vision in Blue, he really didn't want to think about. He knew it was time to say goodbye, before her beauty and wit completely robbed him of all ability to speak, to think, to reason. He headed over to slowly intercept her, and prayed he wasn't going to cry like a girl as he said his farewell.


	3. Yup, its the PLOD

Changes in Latitude Ch. 3

"Well, here it is." Thought Jim, rather inanely, as he walked over toward Pam in the floodlit parking lot. Jim's tread was heavy, as is the walk of many people bearing bad news. His shoulders a bit slumped and head hanging a little. Roy's parting words, requesting that Jim "keep an eye on her" as the truck pulled away really did nothing positive for his mood. The fact that Roy left, however, did wonders.

A rebellious part of Jim's mind (usually where all the fun thoughts and ideas sprung from) considered the danger and irony of Roy's request. He would like nothing more to keep an eye on Pam, and two hands, and two lips, and one tongue, and… Yeah, point made.

Pam greeted Jim with a dazzling smile as he walked up and requested to speak with her.

"Hey, could I talk to you for a second?"

"Are we gonna talk about when you're going to give me some more of your money? 'Cause we could go back in and take care of that right now." Pam seemed to be having a wonderful time, in full tease mode about her recent victory at the poker table.

Jim paused for a moment to try and organize the multiple streams of thought running through his mind. He knew he was only going to get one chance at telling her about the transfer, as his battered emotions would not be able to take a second try. Not without bawling like a small child at a Dwight Schrute puppet show. The horror.

In the long seconds after Pam completed her jibe about his chances at a poker rematch, Jim tried desperately to get his spinning brain under control. He tried to focus on Stamford, he was going to Connecticut, tell her about the transfer!

He tried to repress his baser urges arising from _her_ in _that dress! _Copping a feel would not help matters _at all! _His mouth was dry, the moisture having mysteriously migrated to his palms. He wanted to lick his lips, but he figured that would look way creepy right now. His overmatched nervous system (a very appropriate name for it at the moment!) managed to call a mental time out for the briefest moment. He forced himself to completely take in the sight of the young woman before him. Happy, giddy, a little tipsy, undoubtedly beautiful, but he knew Pam was more than a pretty face.

He loved how happy she seemed, flushed with victory and a few drinks (and possibly a few "second drinks" as well!). He loved the fact that they could tease each other so freely, and always seemed to speak so effortlessly. He loved her keen wit, even when it was being employed against him. He loved her intelligence (he knew she was at least as smart as he was, maybe smarter), even though she often tried to hide it from the world. He loved her kindness, her restraint in using her devastating intelligence and razor wit so as to not make those not blessed with such feel badly about it. Beauty, brains, and she was so nice! He was so in love with her.

"I'm so in love with you."

Wait, what? Jim's mind crunched to a halt. THAT was SO not supposed to come out. It was supposed to be 'I'm leaving', not 'I love you'! Apparently Plan 4a has been replaced by Plan 3 by his stupid brain. Nice going brain!

"What?" Pam's smile fell from her face as she echoed Jim's own astonishment, replaced by utter confusion. Fear replaced triumph in her green eyes. "What do you expect me to say to that?" Maybe a little anger behind her long lashes too.

"I just needed you to know, once." Jim managed to croak. Might as well keep talking, he thought, nothing to lose now.

"I can't." Pam whispered. Green eyes beginning to shine with potential tears. "You have no idea…"

"Don't do that." Jim had known what it's like to be stuck in a comfortable platonic friendship with girls he's liked romantically in his past. It was a common curse for nice guys. This was about a billion times worse than all of anyone's unrequited crushes on their female friends ever.

"…what our friendship means to me." Pam finished desperately. Jim could tell she was trying heroically to keep her neat little world in order. He knew he shattered her illusions utterly, but he couldn't live a lie anymore.

"I want to be more than that." He had to be more than just a friend. Anything less than everything might just kill him.

"I'm sorry I misinterpreted our friendship." Pam managed. From this statement, Jim realized he'd gambled and lost for the second time that night. She's thrown 'friendship' at him in no uncertain terms. He'd said 'love', she replied with 'friendship'. Twice.

"Not your fault." He hated it when she blamed herself for stuff. A small shake of his head caused a tear to escape and run down his cheek (Damnit! He didn't want to cry.) "I'm sorry I misinterpreted our friendship."

He had to get out of there. Here he was trying to convince her he was a man, and he just had to start weeping!

As he passed her on his way toward the protective shadows, he couldn't help but notice how different her demeanor was after their little talk. He completely ruined her night. As if he needed one more thing to feel awful about. Jim turned away and walked quickly into the shadows.

Jim quickly regained control of himself in the lee of the building. This night was quite awkward enough, thank you, without having to explain away tears to his co-workers.

"Well, this night's shot to hell. Might as well clear out, before I emotionally assault someone else." Jim headed for the office entrance, intending to retrieve a list of available apartments in Stamford he had left in his desk. It was pointless to wait on finding a place to live, now that he was most certainly leaving Scranton as soon as possible. Ascending the stairs in the gloom, he reaches the appropriate floor and walks quickly down the hallway. Stopping when he reaches the doorway for Dunder Mifflin, he catches a whisper from within.

"…he's my best friend." A sad voice from the darkened office.

Jim pauses by the reception area couch, just out of sight of Pam. He wants to eavesdrop on her conversation. He wants to hear something that might save him the agony he knows is coming. But he knows that anything she might say about possibly reciprocating his love wouldn't count unless she tells him to his face.

"…yeah, I think I am." Pam speaks softly into the phone. Jim notices she's using his phone, at his desk. Significant? But what is she saying? Is she confirming her plans to marry Roy? Is she agreeing to a weekend visit with what must be her mom? Or is she feeling the attraction he feels?

Jim decides he's had enough confusion for now and breaks cover. He's going to get his answer once and for all.

Pam notices movement near the door, and turns to face him. A quick apology ends her phone call. She is silent for a moment as she regards the interloper, mouth slightly open, eyes shining in the gloom.

Jim hates the tension visible in her features, but he thinks that he's never seen her look quite this beautiful. He usually keeps his emotions under tight rein, but his inadvertent confession of love has freed him. Never has he felt more alive. All or nothing, he advances on a visibly trembling Pam. He is seized with an irrepressible urge to kiss her. Even if she rejects him, slaps him, kills him; he must know.

"Listen, Jim…" She speaks to his approaching form. Whatever she was about to say is lost as he embraces her lightly, his lips finding hers.

Jim considers himself a pretty romantic guy, usually. He's endured his fair share of ridicule from his buddies for his insistence on the importance of a good kiss with a girl, and that a shared kiss is a symbol of deep caring and consideration. He'll never kiss a lot of girls, but those he does kiss remember it well. He never thought Pam would turn the tables on him though, making him forget everything but this moment.

Jim's heart leapt as Pam returned his affections, her arms around him and hand brushing the nape of his neck. Her lips were so soft, her breath so sweet; she just felt right in his arms, like that's where she belonged.

No moment can last forever, and they both pulled away to gaze at each other.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time." Jim's whisper laden with awe.

"Me too." Pam admitted, also in awe of the moment they shared.

Then, her face darkened slightly, "I think we're both drunk." The spell had broken, she was struggling to justify, to rationalize the kiss. She wasn't ready to give up the masquerade of 'just friends'.

"I'm not drunk. Are you drunk?" Jim asked, not able to let this be categorized as a mistake, a drunken fluke.

"No." Pam admitted. He knew she was a terrible liar to everyone but herself.

Jim saw her lips quiver slightly, giving in to the temptation to still them with his own.

"Jim." A warning from Pam, her small hand on his chest. One soul-shattering kiss was enough. There would not be a second. Jim leaned back a bit to look at her, embrace becoming hands held at waist level.

"So, you're really going to marry him?" Jim stared defeat in the face. She nods an affirmative. Pam was going to marry Roy on June 10th and Jim was destined to live a lifetime alone.

"Okay." Jim slides his hands out from hers. He had nothing left. He told her exactly how he felt and she said she couldn't. He then showed her, and she again said no.

Jim offered a pained grin to Pam as he turned to leave, doing his best to ignore the stricken look on her face. He knew he had to get whatever was left of him out of there. Would Stamford be far enough?


	4. The PLOD claims another victim

This one is going to M for potty-mouth Packer!

Changes in Latitude Ch 4

Jim walked deliberately down the hall and into the stairwell after his second encounter with Pam. He resisted the temptation to return to her and try to salvage some sort of relationship from this debacle. He had put it all out there, and she didn't want it, or him. He felt there was nothing more he could do.

_"Your mission; if you choose to accept it, is to escape Dunder Mifflin with a shred of your dignity intact."_ He thought. If he could turn invisible, he would have, or disapparated like Dwight's Potter novels.

_"Ok, I need to get to my car without anyone seeing me, or at least be close enough to talk to me. Between the casino stuff going on and Michael's silliness, I couldn't ask for a better diversion."_ He began to plan his escape; a useful diversion in his own mind from the angst factory gearing up for high production. He had a feeling that in the next few months, the little things in life are going to be very important for distracting him from The Big Thing.

His planning began to take a very Dwight-like cadence. _"Fact: my car is across from the main entrance. Easy approach path, easy exit. If anyone sees me, I wave vaguely and keep walking. No crying, moaning, gnashing of teeth, or other signs of distress; these attract attention. In the event of Michael, feign illness and an urge to vomit. Ok, good."_

Jim paused at the door, took a breath, and pushed his way out into the balmy evening.

"Aw shit." With one glance, Jim realized his plans for a dignified exit just turned into the above mentioned fecal materiel.

"Halpert, ya big queen! Where ya been? Sniffin' some dude's thong again?"

The one and only Todd "asshat" Packer.

"_When the hell did that guy get here?" _ Jim thought, as he considered how bad this situation could get. His escape route was compromised, as Packer felt the need to park his flashy car across three spots immediately next to Jim's humble Corolla.

He was obviously drunk, holding court to an amused Michael, sycophantic Dwight, and giddy Kevin. The jolly quartet was standing by Packer's red corvette with its ridiculous vanity plate "WLHUNG".

"_An audience too. Fantastic." _Jim just knew Packer would start in on him, just like he did at every opportunity. Usually Jim could take the weak jokes and insults in stride, but he really would rather not have had to _this _evening.

Jim squared his shoulders and marched toward the group, determined to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

"Look at him! He even walks like a fag! Must've left a dildo up his ass or something." Packer hooted. "Ooh, have to get home, I DVR'd Queer Eye!" Mockery in Packer's impression of an effeminate voice.

Jim walked, hunching forward a bit. He felt for a moment like a pedestrian walking into a sleet storm, leaning into the unpleasant insults flung his way.

"Hey homo! I think you have a little drippy something right here." Packer pointing to the corner of his mouth. Rather weak insinuation of a blowjob, really.

Jim shouldered past the balding man and reached for his keys. With luck, he'd never have to see any of these people in this life again. _"Vaya con dios, suckers."_ Jim's parting thought.

"Hey, I saw you talking to that hot secretary before. She was just begging for it in that blue dress." Packer said.

"_Oh no." _Jim froze, his car door halfway open.

"Yeah, receptionist with the hot ass and dick sucking lips." Packer continued. To Michael: "She looked all like 'Take me now' and Fag-boy here just cried and walked away!"

"_He saw me spill my heart out to Pam."_ Jim's humiliation was now complete. He just stared at his car seat for a moment, not really trusting his mind with thoughts at the moment.

Michael began to look a little alarmed. "Easy Todd, why don't we just go in for a drink?"

"No." Packer was starting to turn vicious. "Any real man would have laid the smack down on that hot piece. I'll bet she's still here somewhere. Have to show her what I can do to that poon."

Jim's head snapped up, fixing Packer with a look. It wasn't a glare or an expression of distaste, just a calm look. His body turned, closing the half-open door with a thunk. Four strides and he was standing in front of Packer.

One word, spoken quietly.

"Stop."

Jim's body seemed relaxed, his hands at his side loose. His expression was neutral. His voice was level, though gravelly. Outwardly, Jim presented the image of a coiled spring. The relatively sober onlookers grasped the fact that he was a man who knew something bad was about to happen; and was markedly unconcerned if it did.

Michael, Dwight, and Kevin started backing away, never having seen the usually amiable salesman react in quite this way before.

"What's the matter fag? Jealous that I'm gonna fuck that little secretary whore until her eyes cross?"

It was at this point Jim felt a little something snap in his brain. It was probably his last shred of self control.

The first thing Jim did was to grab Todd Packer by his jacket lapels, pulling and lifting simultaneously. The purpose of this was to bring Packer's crotch, of which he was so proud, right down on Jim's upraised knee.

In the back corner of Jim's mind, sitting apart from the mayhem swirling about, a few impressions were stored:

It was Packer's eyes that crossed when taking a solid hit to the groin.

Adrenaline in that quantity really does slow down time.

If his shot to Packer's testicles happened to render him sterile, he may be liable for a civic award of some kind.

There was much more violence to come.

Jim wasn't by nature a violent man. Two older brothers and a grandfather who loved boxing ensured he knew how to fight, and a little sister the guys thought was kind of hot meant a good deal of practice, but he never really had the will to beat a man into the ground. Until now, that is.

Jim propped Packer up against the side of the corvette and took a half step back with his right foot. He quickly followed through with a right cross to the bridge of Packer's nose, springing blood from the nostrils and tears from the eyes. A left jab to re-position Packer's head, and another solid right to the upper lip area. The balding man tried to bring his hands up to defend his savaged face, but Jim's left hook swatted them away and cleared the path for a third hard right to the nose/left cheek. Packer's head and upper body now slumped off to his right, blood and saliva pouring onto the trunk and rear window of the corvette.

"Jesus Jim!" Michael half whispered, stunned by the violence from the normally calm man.

Jim backed off a little, having been taught not to hit a man when he was down unless it's life or death; which this most certainly wasn't. No, this was however the end of his association with Dunder Mifflin, and possibly a lawsuit.

As time regained it's usual pace, Jim took in the expressions of the upright and unbattered members of the little party. Unsurprisingly, Michael looked like he was about to cry having witnessed one of his "friends" beat down a long time best buddy. No shockers there. Kevin was giggling in his usual manner; ever the jolly one. Dwight however was looking at him with a curious mixture of respect and awe; not a combination usually found in his imperious gaze. Jim felt he knew why. He and Dwight had agreed on very little during their long association: 1. Deference to women and the elderly is a requirement of civility. 2. Ok, Lord of the Rings was pretty cool. And 3. Todd Packer is blight on humanity. He had no doubt at all Dwight enjoyed seeing the obnoxious man taken down (at least for a corporate setting!) so violently.

"Jim, go quickly! If anyone asks, we'll say he fell or something." Dwight said in a rush.

"_Hmm, good advice from Dwight! Never thought I'd see the day." _ Jim thought as he nodded at the slightly shorter salesman.

"Thanks Dwight." A quick handshake and Jim was fleeing the scene.

"_Guess Stamford is out. Time for plan 4B I guess…"_

"Farewell young warrior." Whispered Dwight, watching Jim's car recede in the distance as he led a teary-eyed Michael away.


	5. Pam's Vesuvius of Angst

Changes in Latitude Ch 5

Pam's POV

"Oh my God!" Pam was in shock. Jim loved her. Jim KISSED her! If it wasn't for the sharp pain of the desk edge jabbing her in the thigh, she would've sworn she was dreaming. What sort of dream this was she wasn't sure, however. Fantasy, nightmare, it could go either way at this point.

Pam took a shaky breath as she lowered herself into Jim's chair. She really needed a time out here, her whirling mind given a minute to catch up.

Okay, she thought, let's try to look at this whole thing logically. What had just happened? She began with what she knew. Jim, her best friend (and a very handsome man) just confessed his adoration for her. She thought he might have had a crush on her in the past, and admitted as much a few weeks ago. But now he just went back on that whole conversation and said "I'm so in love with you." Pam couldn't help but re-live the moment in the parking lot in her mind, wishing she could've come up with a better response than "I can't." Like she was a child grounded and was forbidden to go out and play! "Oh, I'm sorry. I'd love to love you back and engage in what is sure to be a romance for the ages, but I got paint on the carpet and now I have to marry Roy. It was either that, or writing the pledge of allegiance a hundred times." It all seemed totally ridiculous.

Ok, now Pam could add humiliation to the stew of emotions bubbling in her mind.

Fantastic.

"Alright, enough! What the F just happened?" Pam said aloud to the empty office. She didn't consider herself the quickest person ever born, but she knew herself to be pretty sharp, better on the uptake than most. She really needed to get it together RIGHT NOW because her brain was about three steps behind the pace for these events. Emotion was threatening to overwhelm her, turning her into a confused teary-eyed mess. She had to focus on what was said in the parking lot. Jim put it all out there for her, and she needed to analyze his signals. It might help to say it all out loud, she thought, to better organize her thoughts.

"_What did he say? He's in love with me. He just had to tell me once, that I should know he wants to be more than just friends. Or wanted, past tense_ (her stomach tightened a little at the implications of that.) _The bit about misinterpreting friendship was merely a face-saving device, I had already shot him down and he didn't want to mortify me by walking off in a huff, not his style."_

"_How did he say it? He sort of blurted it out. We were joking around about the poker game, or at least I was, and he fixes me with a very intense look for a moment. I must've looked idiotic, grinning at him as I awaited his salvo in our customary repartee. His response surely caused that grin to slide off my face quickly! Our faces: mine must've paled in shock, his so uncharacteristically sad and forlorn. He didn't seem to confess his love for me in a hopeful way, like he expected me to leap into his arms and shower him with kisses. No, his revelation of his feelings seemed like it was torn from him, unwillingly. My pathetic response in the negative, and he nods like he knows. He seemed to almost expect it. A single tear wiped away reveals his despair, and he walks off into the shadows."_

"_Okay, now the tough one. Why? What would cause this eruption of feelings?"_

The word 'eruption' was fairly apt. Sudden, dramatic, devastating. The word triggered a memory in Pam from a few years ago. Michael's Movie Monday's had at one time featured "Volcano" with Tommy Lee Jones and Anne Heche. Cheesy disaster action adventure with a message encouraging racial harmony, it was all Michael ever asked for in cinema (excepting female frontal nudity, provided by some terribly contrived plot device, but you couldn't have it all, could you?) Naturally, any disaster action adventure movie shown to Dwight Schrute is an occasion to showcase his knowledge of incredibly violent natural phenomena. Where Kevin was speculating aloud on whether Anne Heche was fully gay or just couldn't make up her mind, Kelly horrified at the image of Rodeo Drive getting torched, and Michael gazing wide eyed at the special effects; Dwight lectured on how the scriptwriters got it all wrong on the volcano facts. "Fact: The San Andreas Fault in Southern California is a slip fault, not a subduction fault, and therefore could NEVER create a volcano!" Jim, of course, missed no opportunity to twit his authoritarian desk mate, "Well Dwight, you should tell Michael everything you know the movie gets wrong, just so he never falls victim to hot magma due to some crappy movie."

"You did swear to protect him with your life, you said." Pam put in; always ready to back Jim's play (and get rid of a pestiferous Dwight in the process)

"Fine, I shall educate Michael in the ways of REAL volcanoes." Dwight declaimed dramatically. He stomped off and proceeded to bore poor Michael with the minutiae of pyroclastic flows and what exactly a plinian cloud was. Jim and Pam giggled at Michael's frustrated reactions to Dwight's detailed explanations for the rest of the afternoon. There was one thing that stuck in Pam's mind however. Dwight had said that eruptions are caused by an intense buildup of pressure. She kind of knew that from Earth Science in High School, but the movie incident cemented it in her mind.

Pressure.

Pressure on Jim. Jim had to have spilled his guts about his feelings due to some sort of social pressure. The upcoming wedding was obviously the source of that pressure. Pam knew he wasn't the type to make a play for a married woman, and clearly felt his chances to be with her were slipping away.

"_Okay, we have an explanation for Jim's behavior. But why tonight? Why now?"_

Pam knew she looked good tonight. The periwinkle blue dress accentuated her curves in ways her usual wardrobe could never. She had expected more in the way of rude comments from her more immature co-workers, but Michael's "two girl distraction" and a hulking Roy by her side stifled most of them. Was Jim motivated by pure lust? Is he just a shallow guy overcome by her feminine charms?

"_No, not his style."_ Jim had dated the cute cheerleader Katy for a while, "Pam 6.0" according to Kevin. Pam had also perused many of Jim's photo albums over the years, including ones from college. In most of the pictures, younger Jim had the hot girls hanging off of him, looking up at him in adoration. Jim Halpert had rarely lacked for attractive female company when he wanted it. He also gave every indication of not being too impressed by a pretty face or a perfect body, as he had admitted to being the one to call off his relationship with Katy.

Pam leaned back in the chair and threw her head back until she could see the dingy ceiling tiles above the sales area, closing her eyes and covering her face with her hands. Any peace she sought in the gesture was ruined by Jim's scent adhering to her hands. "Must've trailed 'em through his cologne when we kissed." Pam sighed to herself. Recollections of her hands reaching up for Jim's neck, her fingers twirling in his hair now made themselves felt in her overtaxed mind. Never in her life had she ever felt anything as intensely as that kiss. The artist in her recognized it as a multi-sensory experience: the gentleness of his touch as he held her, his clean masculine smell (as opposed to Roy's slight but ever present hint of BO!), the look of quiet desperation in his eyes as he leaned in and changed her world forever, his lips brushing hers softly, and yet hinting at an intensity of feeling that frightened her a little.

"Why me? How can this beautiful man love ME?" Pam knew she had self-esteem issues, but what girl didn't? Hugely romantic gestures didn't happen to girls like her. No, she was meant to be a boring Scranton housewife, knee deep in dirty children and aged greater than her years. Her hair was too frizzy, her face too plain, and her personality too mousy to attract someone of Jim's evident qualities.

And yet somehow, she had.

She had to get out of there. The darkened office was becoming too stifling for her in this condition. Her mind demanded answers and her body needed fresh air, neither of which could be found at Jim's desk.

Pam sat up in the chair and began to re-arrange the papers on Jim's desk; during "The Kiss" (which will always be known as the definite article in her mind!), she had knocked some of his stuff to the ground. She paused when she noticed something beyond the usual DM paperwork in the pile.

"Unfurnished Apartments in Stamford, Connecticut."

Dunder Mifflin has a branch in Stamford.

Pam's eyes narrowed a bit at this thought. She then began searching Jim's desk in earnest for the next piece to the puzzle. Her practiced hands flew through various sales orders and TPS reports until she found what she was most afraid of.

Jim was a bit old fashioned, Pam knew. He had a tendency to print out important e-mails so he could read them off of paper rather than just leave them in cyberspace. He said once that the information in the message seemed more real if he could actually hold it.

Well, Pam had to agree in this case, as she was holding an e-mail from Jan regarding his transfer request to Dunder Mifflin Stamford. It was very real, and it was approved.

Jim was leaving. Permanently.

"Oh." Jim had revealed his deepest feelings to her because he would never see her again.

No Jim in her life. Ever again.

These thoughts threatened to overbalance her carefully stacked emotions, dissolving her into a weeping mess. She had to get out of there. Now.

Pam summoned her emotional reserves and stood on shaky legs. She pushed open the door and pulled out her cell phone, dialing the number for a taxi service (the digits were very familiar, having seen them on the door of the cabs that often brought Roy home from his typical carousing.) Relying on Angela in this situation was not an option. Pam couldn't face her judgmental co-worker in this condition, seeing as how she was holding back tears with pure willpower. After all, she would still be required to work there for the foreseeable future. The less gossip she would have to endure, the better.

After reserving a cab, Pam alit on a bench next to the building, covered in those same shadows where Jim hid following his confession. She settled into the protecting darkness and waited for the "Quick Service" taxi, simultaneously hoping the company lived up to it's name and idly wondering what awful joke Michael would make about it. No doubt something along the lines of a "wham, bam, thank you ma'am" sort of joke. Followed up by some sort of comment directed at her and what Michael imagined to be her sex life. Probably an offer to council Roy on issues of "hang time" or something. She then would glance over at Jim and see his eyebrows heading for his hairline in a wide-eyed look.

Or, at least, she would have.

If she hadn't driven him away.

Twice.

By this time, the taxi had arrived. "Quick Service" indeed, thought Pam, welcoming the necessity of directing the taxi to her home, using the mundane act to avert the "death spiral" line of thought she had stumbled upon. She had a feeling that this skill, using minutae to avoid uncomfortable thoughts, would become very useful in the future.

In a short while the taxi had pulled up to her apartment, and in no time Pam was briskly walking to her door. She was not terribly surprised to see Roy's truck missing from the lot, and not really disappointed to be home alone. After ten years of being with the man, Pam had gained a considerable level of fluency in "Roy". When he said he was tired and wanted to leave, he usually meant that the party/gathering/event was lame and he wanted to find a better one; usually at Poor Richards, usually with Kenny or Darryl, and notably, usually without her. So, to her non-surprise, Roy had gone elsewhere for a portion of the evening.

Which was ok, because Pam really, really needed to cry.


	6. Romantic Roy

Changes in Latitude. Ch. 6

Pam Beesly was lying in bed. Actually, "balled up" in bed was more accurate, legs brought up nearly to her chest, head tucked nearly into her crossed arms. To anyone viewing this scene, it seemed as if she were trying to occupy as little space as possible. The comforter was drawn up over her head with only a few tendrils of wavy brunette hair fanning across the pillow to indicate that the mound created was a person, not a pile of laundry hastily covered in a morning's rush.

It could be said that a pile of dirty laundry, if it had feelings, would most likely feel a great deal better than the person whose posture resembled it.

Pam groaned a little, as she poked her head out from under the protective comforter. She was starting to cramp from the fetal position she had assumed upon changing out of the blue dress and into comfy pajamas. That was, what? A glance at the clock, a reply of 4 AM. Five hours ago. A slight lean to the right to view the other side of the queen size bed. No Roy. A glance at the window. The edges of the curtains were brightening in the May pre-dawn. Angela had once made a comment (joke was far too humorous to describe anything Angela pronounced) about the dawn light being like God's flashlight illuminating the sinners who roister until the early hours.

Not that Pam ever believed Roy would ever do anything REALLY awful, like cheat, or take hard drugs (the less said about "softer" drugs, the better!), or rob a mini-mart. But a little part of her did feel a bit of moral superiority for not being out until the wee hours. Right now, though, that was the only "moral high ground" she claimed to hold.

_"How could I have let this happen?"_ she wondered for the thousandth time. Jim was her best friend. He was also very in love with her; so much so that he was going to move far away to not be around her.

"_Why?"_ For what reason did he not want to be anywhere near her? Was it to ease his own torture? The very thought that her presence could be torturous to him was a painful one. She didn't intend to bait him or tease him, but in hindsight she could see how many of their interactions could have been construed as "dubious". The little glances, the playful touches, their numerous inside jokes. She had totally flirted with him, or at least it would seem.

And yet, those times when she had led him on were some of the best times she can remember in the past three years. Looking back, she really had more fun with Jim at work than with Roy on any vacation or day off. She liked flirting with Jim, she realized with a sigh. She liked almost everything about Jim. Was "liked" really the right word? He said "love" to her a couple of hours ago. She would be hard pressed to disagree with his assessment.

And there it was. The major problem in this whole sordid affair. (A slight wince at the word "affair") Pam seemed to be in love with two different men. One, a drunken oaf and constant irritant, but with whom she'd shared a decade of her life. Steady (economically and temperamentally, if not in actual balance), a nice guy. Handsome enough, even if his boyish good looks were eroding away with age and a torrent of cheap beer. She knew exactly what she was getting with Roy. She just didn't know if she wanted it…

Jim was a bit of a puzzle to her though. Whereas she could predict Roy's every word and action in any situation, Pam realized there were vast areas of Jim's life she had never explored. In fact, during their entire three year friendship, she realized that she only started thinking of Jim as an actual "guy" a little over a year ago. Sometime around that basketball game last year when she saw Jim physically dominate Roy on the warehouse floor. Something had clicked in her head, moving Jim from "genderless best bud" to "attractive guy" status. The change was a little un-nerving, but not unpleasant; what girl didn't want a hot guy showering her with attention?

Ahh, guilt sets in. Pam thought of all the times she felt jealous whenever she thought of some other woman on Jim's arm. She couldn't tolerate an interruption in her "Jim fix"! Red hair and a multitude of purses immediately came to mind. Pam conceded she was kind of jealous when Katy was around, and unusually cheerful when she found out Katy wouldn't be around anymore. Pam also conceded that it wasn't because they were "wrong for each other"; it was probably because Katy wasn't her.

"I think I'm a girl who wants two boyfriends!" Pam muttered to herself in the darkness.

She knew she couldn't have both. Jim's declaration of love had carried an ultimatum as well. "Decide. Me or him." She, in a panic, chose Roy, twice.

She couldn't help but feel she might have made the wrong decision.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of keys at the door. Shortly followed by a loud thud. Then more keys at the door, then a creak-shuffle-slam.

"_Got it on the second try."_ Thought Pam, knowing Roy probably had missed the keyhole on the first pass and tried to shoulder the door open anyhow.

Next, the sound of keys skittering across the kitchen table and onto the linoleum. Pam now knew where the car keys would be when he couldn't find them tomorrow.

The click of the refrigerator door signaled the demise of two slices of pizza and a quart of chocolate milk that were sitting peacefully in their Frigidaire. Pam realized she could look forward to pepperoni breath in her personal airspace for the remainder of the evening, to say nothing of Roy's tendency towards lactose intolerance.

A few glugs later, Pam was rewarded with the hollow _thonk _sound of a milk carton propelled in the direction of the trash, but missing and coming to rest on the floor, possibly near the car keys. _"Hope he put the cap back on at least."_ Pam the cleaning lady thought.

The next stop on Pam's aural tour of intoxicated Roy's journey was a visit to the bathroom. As a special treat, Roy didn't close the door for his lengthy pee. Just for fun, Pam counted the number of times the water-on-water sound seemed to cut out during the process. (Four was the final count) Knowing Roy was having no trouble with his prostate, she could only conclude those were the times he "went off course" and peed on the wall/floor. _"Have to clean the bathroom tomorrow."_ Pam noted.

A few clank-swishes, a thud, a soft curse, a second thud, and a final swish told an entire story in Pam's head. Roy had left the bathroom with his jeans around his ankles (the clank being his belt buckle on the floor). He toed one shoe off (thud #1), nearly lost his balance, pried his other shoe off (thud #2), and stepped out of his pants. Pam could anticipate seeing one pair of Levi's (36 inch waist 32 inch inseam, loose fit, dark blue), and one pair of Timberland Hiking Boots (tan, size 10) in the hallway near the bathroom in the morning.

Pam looked up to see Roy nudge the bedroom door open and weave his way towards the bed. She noticed he still had his sweater on and his boxers were askew. In the early days, she would have tried to fix him up to sleep properly, but through long association she knew he didn't mind waking up half dressed and reeking of last night's exertions.

"Hey babe, what's happenin'?" Roy slurred, after falling into bed and throwing a heavy arm across her chest.

"Mmmh. Sleeping." Replied Pam, in an attempt to avoid pointless conversation. She rolled over and away from Roy, preparing herself for what was sure to be coming next.

Predictably, Roy was unfazed by his fiancée's apparent unconsciousness. He started with his classic opening move; a heavy hand on Pam's hip, sliding down to caress her rear. A second's pause, then a scurry to get under the blanket to the same level as Roy realized that an ass pat through a comforter was pretty ineffective.

Once properly situated, Roy again placed his hand on Pam's derrière, hooking a thumb in the waistband of her pajama pants to pull them down a bit. Pam stayed very still as Roy then leaned in to kiss her neck under her ear.

Pam was presented with a choice. She could either; "wake up" and give in to his advances, knowing it would all be over soon anyway (quick service, indeed!). Or, pretend to remain asleep, and wait for Roy's blood alcohol content to knock him out.

While she was considering her options, Roy had moved on to "Stage 2 seduction technique". He began to nibble messily on her earlobe (producing an intense squishing noise in Pam's ear canal). Roy's left hand (the "down" side) snaked under her neck and chin, and sought a breast to pinch. His right hand ("up" side) slid under her waistband, along her hip, and between her thighs.

Pam so didn't want to have to do this right then. Both of her usual responses exacted a cost in self-esteem that was already sorely depleted. Pretending to sleep made her out to be a liar, deceiving the man she supposedly loved. Submitting to Roy's lust would leave her feeling used and icky, and she would still be a liar when she had to fake interest in his clumsy advances. Lose-lose all the way. There had to be a viable third option, like maybe saying no? Standing up for herself and getting what she wanted, perhaps?

She knew she had to act soon, however. Roy had commenced "Stage 3", which involved A. Sucking on her neck like a toothless vampire. B. Squeezing her right breast much like one would a stress ball. And C. Pinching what he thought to be her clitoris very, very hard. It was in fact her left labia minora that he had in his death grip, but it still hurt quite a bit.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. Pam "jerked awake", and "inadvertently" elbowed Roy in the ribs. He grunted loudly in surprise. She then pushed herself up on her other arm (making sure to trap Roy's "boob" hand under the pointy part of her elbow), her other arm pulling Roy's right hand out of it's station in her crotch area. She then completed her disengagement by standing up and walking quickly to the bathroom, being sure to avoid Roy's discarded jeans in the hall.

"Ow! Pam, what the hell?" Roy's protest was muffled by a shutting bathroom door.

Pam flipped on the light in the small bathroom and took a moment to examine herself in the mirror. She looked tired and a bit sad, her face puffy from several hours of crying. She was massaging the life back into her right breast and she could see the beginnings of a hickey on her neck. Her eyes were a bit different, though. Whereas most of her demeanor radiated exhaustion and defeat, her eyes were angry. Usually a soft green, tonight they were slate grey; like those winter days before a snowstorm so common in Scranton. Pam began to realize how pissed off she was, and she kinda liked it. She shouldn't have to live this way, being so sad, making others even sadder, getting molested by a drunken buffoon while she tried to mourn an ended friendship! This life made her very angry, which was sort of new to her. She knew she deserved better than this, which was a novel thought to her as well. Could it be that Jim's parting gift, as he sailed on out of her life, was to give her back her self?

It was at this point, locked in that tiny bathroom to avoid his "Roman" hands; Pam realized that her and Roy were over. The wedding that she had put so much effort into would never happen, and she would have to break her second heart in as many days.

"_I should be getting good at this heartbreaker stuff. After all, I had Jim's to practice on, right?" _Pam thought, breaking her own battered heart a little more in the process and causing her eyes, so resolute before, to sadden and fill with tears. She struggled for a moment to regain control.

"_No. Handle this first. If I ever see Jim again, I want it to be with a clear conscience." _Pam was calm now. She knew what she had to do. The hard part would be waiting until somewhat sober Roy returned; as drunken Roy wouldn't understand (She didn't think she could try to break them up more than once, so she had to make it count). That meant returning to the bed and trying to sleep a bit, killing a few hours and allowing Roy to sleep it off.

Pam switched off the light, opened the door, and walked back into the bedroom (dodging a boot along the way)_._ Roy was not passed out yet, but nearing bed time, having managed to remove the rest of his clothing and now struggling with the half empty water bottle Pam had noticed on his nightstand three days ago. She had long since given up trying to tidy up his areas of the house, as he seemed to have an unending supply of things to replace his clutter with. Still kind of skeeved her out a little though.

As Pam slid back into bed, Roy finally managed to get the cap off of the bottle; then promptly spilled it. Right in the center of their queen size mattress.

"_Great, now I get to enjoy the nocturnal water sports too. At least it's not pee this time."_ Pam thought, enjoying the notion that this may be the last time she ever had to sleep in a bed wetted down by her fiancé.

Roy grumbled something about it not being his fault, or something, and settled in to his pillow.

"_Sleep; we'll handle this in the morning." _ Pam began to drift off a little, calm and determined in her decision. Just then…

"Dutch Oven!" Roy shouted, as he threw the comforter over Pam's face.

"Oh no." Pam said, mostly to herself. "_Just when I thought he couldn't be any more disgusting tonight!" _

The smell hit her immediately; beer, wings, milk, pizza, shots, and a few other things of unknown origin had conspired to turn Roy's gastro-intestinal system into a chemical weapons factory. And Pam was now getting to enjoy their handiwork, trapped with it under their comforter.

Usually, Pam would squirm and yell until Roy let her out, then glare at him while he laughed at her discomfort. This time, however, she didn't make a sound or move a muscle as she contemplated what sort of mayhem she could commit on Roy and successfully avoid a jail sentence. Murder was out, unfortunately. Removing his testicles with a rusty hacksaw, which would qualify as "malicious wounding", was probably not a good idea either. She'd heard of a wife who tied her cheating husband to a bed and inserted a curling iron up his rear and left it on for a weekend. An appropriate response to cheating, by her lights, but the courts awarded the woman a charge for "illegal confinement" and another "malicious wounding" (the husband was given a permanent colostomy bag, and would never poop normally again), in addition to a divorce. The thought of using hair care products for revenge purposes did trigger an idea though.

"Pam-mee, enjoying the smell?" Roy sing-songed as he peeked in at her, looking for a reaction to laugh at.

She reached out toward her nightstand drawer and retrieved one of her famous barrettes, the one with a really tight clasp. She then turned and quickly fastened it directly on Roy's left nipple.

"Arrgh!" a quick grunt of pain escaped as he tried to loosen the barrette. Pam calmly got up, took a few breaths of unpolluted air, and slapped Roy hard across the face.

"Jeez Pam! What's gotten into you tonight?" He demanded, meaty hand to his face.

"Roy." Pam said in calm and clipped tones, "We're through. I'm leaving you."

Astonishment blanketed his features. "Wha? Why?" He managed to slur.

"To answer your first question, I'm leaving you. We're not together anymore. The engagement is off. Roy Anderson is single again. The second, because you are completely disgusting, you don't respect me, and you don't care about anything I want to do in my life." Pam stated, coldly and very calmly. "_Let him be the emotional one, I'm done crying for right now!"_ she thought.

"Leaving me? Pammy, wait!" Roy tried to tug at her emotions by coming close to her defiant form and enclosing her in a hug. Unfortunately for Roy, he forgot two things about the situation at hand: One, Pam was about as angry as she'd ever been; and Two, Roy had forgotten about the barrette still attached to his nipple like a military decoration.

Pam, calmly, grabbed the barrette and twisted it very hard; years of typing, stapling, and trying to beat Jim at thumb wrestling had greatly strengthened her wrists, even though they still kept their delicate appearance.

Roy hissed in pain, grabbing at his chest to remove the offending ornamentation. He opened his mouth to protest, but the angry retort died on his lips.

"Enough, Roy. No more silly games. I'm leaving; right now. I should be back in a few days to get my stuff. I suggest you not be here at that time." Pam was still mad, but felt her resolve melting at Roy's distraught features.

She softened her tone. "It's really for the best, Roy. We're just not right for each other any more." She looked down at her engagement ring, a part of her finger for nearly three years. She slipped it off smoothly and placed it on the dresser, no longer really her property.

She turned to leave, mentally preparing for the two hour drive to her parent's house. At least she didn't need to take anything with her now, making a quick escape possible; her mom always kept some of her clothes and belongings in what was always set aside as her "room". Indeed, a quick escape seemed advisable right now; tears were streaming down Roy's face as the reality of the situation began to penetrate the drunken haze.

She had almost made it to the door with the keys to her old beater car (Kelly had once called it a "hooptie", whatever that was), when Roy sobbed out "Pammy! I love you!"

Her shoulders hitched for a moment, her hand gripped the door frame, and tears fell from her eyes for the millionth time that night. But then she looked up at her old car and saw the freedom that a 1988 Ford Escort with two hundred thousand miles and chipping blue paint could represent.

Pam closed the door on her old life and stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness; the hard work of getting her life back officially begun.


End file.
